You've got nowhere to go but up.To where you'll dine with foreign kings.You can't forget about our tryst.And all those other fleeting things.And will they train you like a dog?And will they walk you down my street?The wind will whistle our old songsThe ones I'll always keepYou've got nowhere to go.I've got a bone to pick with youAbout the argument we hadThe day you got into that cabAnd said my world is in your pastThere must be something wrong with me.My mind is just a sickly little alibi.And why am I surprised you’re giving up on me?Goodbye: the word you're wielding like a knife.